


Rum Runner

by MiniMangoes



Series: The Captain's Journal [7]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: F/M, It all started with that wedding bouquet, is the new cutting potatoes, playing poker, so many troupes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangoes/pseuds/MiniMangoes
Summary: But occasionally, Arthur would say something especially clever, or incredibly stupid - like that time Arthur called Moira asea-lionbecausesea-lions have the word lions in them, and lions are cooler than seals- and Moira would have no choice but to laugh and thinkhow endearing.Or, how Moira Trelian, age 52, falls in love. (Or maybe has been in love this entire time.)
Relationships: Moira/Alcohol, Moira/Arthur, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Captain's Journal [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838770
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Rum Runner

Contrary to popular belief (and not helped at all by Simon - no,  _ Princess Andy’s _ \- incessant egging), Moira wasn’t an idiot. Was she stupid? At times. Brash? Definitely. But an idiot? Never. Good captains weren’t idiots, after all, and Moira was nothing if not a good captain. Well, most of the time. Sometimes there were some slip-ups, but hey, who wouldn’t?

In any event, Moira wasn’t an idiot. (She also had ears and a brain, which helped.)  _ Some other people _ , on the other hand, might be a different story.

“And you,  _ Captain Moira _ . Care to enlighten us with what you’re doing in the hull with Arthur?” Simon snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Moira.

_ Really now _ , she snickered internally.  _ We’re using my sex appeal as slander? Is that all you’ve got, Shark Boy?  _

“I’m playing poker,” Moira snapped back, eyes hardened in anger. “What do you think we were doing down there?” She internally giggled in glee as Simon’s face contorted into a sneer, his displeasure at her answer evident.

_ And to think that he could use that as leverage. Hah. We’re just playing poker, stupid. _

Still, a small part of her brain - a miniscule, tiny, traitorous part of her brain - wished for more.  _ If only…  _

_ Wait, what? _

* * *

This is the story of how Moira Trelian, age 52, fell in love.

* * *

_ Really, _ thought Moira in a drunken haze,  _ for a spontaneous heist, this is an amazing wedding _ . Moira looked at the happy couple, who were busy attempting to out-drink each other amidst a cheering crowd. The selkie had just returned from stealing ( _ re-gifting _ , her brain amended) the Virgin Mary painting, which was safely tucked away in the Captain’s quarters. The crowd was just as rambunctious and joyful as it was when she left, and no-one at the party seemed to notice the Captain’s absence. Although there was no doubt that the changeling’s clever trick did much to alleviate any suspicion, the plain truth was that everyone on board - including herself, if Moira was being honest - was much too drunk on hard alcohol and wedding joy to particularly care about anything other than the party.

Moira let out a small smile as her thoughts wandered over to the happy couple. Although unexpected, the captain was genuinely happy for her two crewmates - they clearly seemed to work well together, and were very much in love.  _ Love _ . What a thing! To even claim that it exists! The old Moira, she knew, would scoff at such a thing. But the changeling and the siren had somehow managed to worm her way into her heart and managed to convince her otherwise - as well as everyone else on this ship, truthfully speaking,  _ like the bird brothers, or Neil, or Darra, or Jonathan, or Arth- _

Moira’s brain screeched to a halt. She physically put her hand up, as if it could stop the thought from appearing, but it was too late.

_ Like Arthur? Like Arthur? What? _

Something about that deeply unsettled her.

_ Twack _ . Her raised hand hit the back of an unsuspecting sailor’s head. Moira made to apologize when the head turned around and revealed a drunk, if not satisfied, Arthur.  _ Speak of the devil! _

“Moira!” He joyfully called out, engulfing a stupefied Moira into a hug. His arms were warm and smelled like cinnamon, at once very calming and -  _ no, Moira! Focus!  _ “I wondered where you were! Some others mentioned they saw you around, but I knew that wasn’t you.” He snickered. “What were you doing having the Kid take your place? Seduced yet another unsuspecting sailor?”

Of course, Arthur would be able to tell the difference between herself and her doppleganger.

“Of course not,” Moira buffed. “I was putting away the flowers from the bouquet I caught, that’s all. Really.” She paused, then admitted, “well, and drinking some as well. But can’t a captain drink in peace?”

Arthur laughed. “Ha! So that’s what it was! Well, glad it wasn’t the sailor, at any least.” Moira raised an eyebrow, but Arthur ignored it. “But wow,” he suddenly added, “I can’t believe you caught the bouquet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she exclaimed in mock-annoyance. “I’ll have you know that I’m dutifully married to the sea and cheat constantly with death and whorehouses. Although,” she added in slightly more drunken seriousness, “you’re right in that someone else should have caught it.” She snorted. “Imagine me, getting married.”

Arthur laughed, but it seemed more forced this time. “For tax benefits, you would.”

_ Maybe not _ , a small part of Moira added. Moira furrowed her eyebrows.  _ Those strange thoughts again. Must be the wedding mood _ . 

The two stood in silence. The roar of the crowd seemed to recede into the background as the two were lost in their own thoughts.

“You know, the bride sure was pretty with that jumpsuit and bouquet” Arthur said, eyes bright and twinking, “and I’m sure that was the prettiest sight to see for Jonathan. But you know, well, I prefer you holding the bouquet, if I say so myself.” His eyes were soft and startlingly clear. 

Moira’s breath caught in her throat. The strange wedding feeling, it seems, was not just limited to her. 

Moira felt her face heat up and quickly took a sip. A strange mix of sadness and relief washed over her. “What,” she coughed out, “Is that what you say to everyone at weddings?”

Arthur laughed again, but it was more tense this time. “Only to you, Captain. Only you.” He gently lifted his cup. 

Moira shook her head. “You always say those things,” she said hesitantly, “don’t you ever think about all the lasses and their broken hearts?” Arthur stared back, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Moira cocked her head in confusion. “Oh don’t tell me you don’t dole out those words to any willing ear.”

“Oh, Moira,” he whispered out, voice soft and vulnerable. “Don’t you know I only tell those things to you? Always, forever and always.”

Moira felt her face contorting into a frown as her thoughts suddenly ground to a halt and turned into static. The roar of the ship faded away and was replaced by Arthur’s words ringing through her skull -  _ only you, forever and always _ . Electricity raced down her arms, body going numb with elation and shock and - and  _ something _ , something warm and comforting that ballooned in her chest. It was a disgusting, terrifying feeling, and Moira wanted none and absolutely all of it.

Perhaps it was not just the wedding mood, after all.

“Don’t let the wedding mood get to her head,” she blurted out. Moira’s eyes widened in shock over her own words, but the words kept spilling out, “or you’ll end up making a fool out of yourself.” Arthur flinched.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she choked on her words, tongue tasting like sand. Arthur blinked, as if suddenly sober, and tensed up. He took a step back, shoulders hunched and withdrawn. He twisted his mouth into a grimace and let out an awkward laugh.

“Hah! Exactly. Must have drunk too much tonight. Um, well. Let me get you another drink, yeah? Um, I heard Barbarrosa’s trying to outdrink you. Weddings are lucky nights. You like men like - well.” He paused, shook his head, and then smiled mechanically. “I’ll see you around, Captain. Um. Happy wedding.”

Moira watched in a daze as Arthur quickly disappeared into the crowd. She had the distinct, terrifying feeling of loss.  _ Loss of what? _

“Captain!” Barbarrosa clapped Moira’s back, jolting her out of her stupor. He lifted his bottle. “Why don’t we say a toast to the bride and groom? Captains bring luck to weddings, after all.”

_ For luck _ .  _ But what’s luck when Arthur -  _ Moira blinked.  _ When Arthur what? _ She paused, then shook her head to clear her thoughts.  _ How strange _ .  _ Must be the alcohol. _

Moira slung an arm around Barbarossa and raised her own bottle. She heard her own hollow laughter as she clanged her bottle with his and crowed out, “For luck!”

* * *

That was not the end of that strange incident. No, as Moira herself came to realize, it was but the first of that odd - that odd  _ something _ that tilted her worldview just enough that she was left grappling. That the pieces of her world, originally stacked together in a neat tower, were suddenly collapsed into a pile of rubble.

(When she explained the situation to Darra, all Moira got back was a lecture on Fermions, for some reason, and a terrifying smirk. Moira hurriedly left before she could figure out what  _ that _ meant.)

Poker was still played in the hull, and alcohol bottles were still smuggled over in the darkness. But occasionally, Arthur would say something especially clever, or incredibly stupid - like that time Arthur called Moira a  _ sea-lion _ because  _ sea-lions have the word lions in them, and lions are cooler than seals _ \- and Moira would have no choice but to laugh and think  _ how endearing _ , and then Arthur would smile with that twinkle in his eyes that always managed to knock Moira’s breath away and left her speechless, and then an awkward silence would descend upon them, broken only by someone’s suggestion for a new round of poker, both sides pretending nothing out of the ordinary just happened - 

And so Moira was left on her own to put the pieces together, all while wondering when the next earthquake would hit.

(There was a small - an incredibly small part of her that still had Joseph’s face ( _ but Arthur’s eyes _ , her brain supplied unhelpfully) - part of her that made snide comments about  _ Moira’s little crush _ . But Moira was too old to consider such foolishness. She always prided herself on never doing the one thing that a good pirate captain should steer away from: falling in love. [1])

(So clearly, it’s not _ Moira’s little crush _ .)

(But then what is it?)

More than anything, Moira Trelian hated the unknown.

“Whatcha looking at, Moira?” A gruff voice spoke over the selkie, who was currently collapsed at a bar counter and staring into her mug.

“‘S nothing much,” the captain replied, voice slurring. “Just thinking.” She looked up and saw Arthur with his eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, and people can fly.” He snorted and moved the mug again. “C’mon captain, we’re on shore leave, and you’re in a bar  _ thinking _ ?” He grinned, smile not quite reaching his eyes. Moira frowned. 

“‘S your fault,” she mumbled. Arthur furrowed his brows. “You’ve been acting weird. After the wedding. And I don’t know why.” She shakily raised a hand towards Arthur’s face and smoothed away the wrinkles between his brows. _ Oh, how old we’ve gotten. _ Arthur seemed frozen in place, mouth open and pupils dilated. Moira felt the questioning stare of the bartender, but decided to ignore it.

“I just,” Moira added after a while, “I just want -”

_ Things to go back to normal _ , she almost said aloud. But that wasn’t right, either.  _ Would that mean I won’t see the wedding-Arthur again?  _ Something about that was deeply unpleasant. She twisted her mouth into a grimace.

“What?” Moira blinked in confusion.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Arthur gently pried Moira’s hands, which at that point had migrated over his beard, and wound them around his shoulders. “Clearly you’ve been drinking too much. Let’s get you back on board.” Moira sagged into Arthur, eyes fluttering closed. Fatigue washed over her senses, and suddenly the prospect of her own bed seemed much more appealing. 

Moira twisted her face into a frown. It was only the second day of ship leave, and yet she felt as if she had drunk all week.  _ Well,  _ she thought distantly,  _ something’s wrong with that rum _ .  _ It must be - it must be the alcohol’s -  _ “fault,” Moira heard herself mumble into his shirt.

The last thing she heard was Arthur whispering, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

“Look, Doc, all I’m saying is, I’m pretty sure I’ve been poisoned.”

Jonathan Chelsea stared back at Moira in suspicion. He slowly raised his eyebrow and tapped his notepad with a pencil.

“As you have emphasized for the past hour, yes. I am aware of your suspicions. However -” he circled something on the notepad - “your reported symptoms do not match that of any known poison, at least that which is reasonably obtainable aboard our ship.”

“But maybe the person used a new poison!” cut in Moira, “We did just travel halfway across the world to India. Who knows what unknown poisons they have there? You can easily slip some into the massive shipment of spices we just bought.”

“That may be true,” added a nonplussed Jonathan Chelsea, “but I will have you know that I have an annual subscription to  _ Ship-Doctors Quarterly _ , so I would appreciate it if you do not cast my diagnosis into doubt, especially as I am currently treating you now. Besides, I cannot imagine anyone who has that much of a vendetta against you on this ship. We the crew do like you, Captain.”

Moira briefly thought of Simon, but said nothing.

“In any case,” continued Jonathan, “I do not believe it is poisoning. It is just too unlikely.” He put down his notepad and, in a rare move of informality, shrugged. “Say as you will, Captain, your physical malaise is just a simple case of improperly balanced humors. Although I do admit that your case is quite complex - there are some symptoms that cannot be explained by improper humor balance. Still, I think this is the solution for now.”

“But I don’t understand it,” mumbled Moira, “the symptoms seem to match long-term poisoning.”

Jonathan looked down at his list. “Well, let me see. Sweaty palms, inability to think clearly, heart palpitations, upset stomach, sudden high body temperatures. And when does this occur?”

“When I drink,” answered Moira. “Usually with Arthur, when we play poker in the hull. Which is why I think it’s an alcohol-based poisoning.”

A strange emotioned flashed across Jonathan’s face, before his face broke out into a large grin. “Oh, Captain! Why didn’t you say so?”

Moira tilted her head in confusion. “That it’s an alcohol-based poisoning? I told you that in the beginning, doc.” Jonathan waved her off, distracted. He quickly jot down some things onto a notepad, ripped out the page, and handed it to Moira. “I think I understand your problem now, Captain.”

Moira looked down at the note and blanched. “ _ Another _ alcohol ban? I just got out of my first one!” She waved the note at Jonathan in bewilderment. “What’s this supposed to do?”

“Well you see, Captain,” Jonathan said excitedly ( _ he seemed overly animated, _ thought Moira suspiciously), “it’s quite simple. It’s an issue not of the humors nor of the poisons. It’s about the emotions, you see. There is an emotional buildup that needs to be cleared.”

Moira thought back to the missing rum barrels and thought of her state of being then. “You do have a point,” she admitted. “I did show similar symptoms, then. But what does alcohol have to do with it?”

“It’s simple, Captan. You have a tendency, Captain, to never face your own emotions. It is quite ironic seeing that you’re quite perceptive of what others think, but I digress. In any case, relying on alcohol has allowed you to avoid facing your own emotions, hampering the normal release of emotions in a healthy way. Thus there is buildup.”

“But isn’t there a better way?” the captain complained. “Maybe like those discussion groups you started hosting? Besides, drinking is healthy! It’s what keeps us sane on this ship, you have got to admit that at least.”

“Just because it keeps you sane, Captain, doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Really, it’s quite clear. Your drinking habits create a shield, and that’s what is making you sick. If you want to get better, Captain, I recommend you not drink for the next week, except during meals. Instead, try to think within - centering yourself, I mean - whenever you feel like drinking. No drinking. Doctor’s orders - and those override Captain’s orders, just so you know.”

_ Damn. His marriage to Darra sure made him cockier, _ Moira thought surly.

“But then what will I do with Arthur now?” muttered Morira. Jonathan’s grin grew larger.

“Oh, Captain, I’m sure you’ll manage. Besides, maybe it will help you through your illness.” He led a confused Moira out the door.

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Moira paced around the captain’s quarters, frustration bubbling up her throat. “Keep it together, Captain. Oh, what the hell.” She stalked over to a hidden wooden panel on the wall, flung it open - and found an empty liquor cabinet.  _ Fuck _ . Moira hit her head against the wall and groaned. Right, they -  _ the Kid, who somehow managed to find her secret stash _ \- ended up using it all during the wedding-heist. 

_ God, what she wouldn’t do for a drink now. _

But then she remembered Jonathan Chelsea’s  _ doctor’s orders _ , and banged her head against the wall once more.

“Um,” she heard Zoe through the closed door, “is everything alright?”

_ I mean yes, but no? _ As if she could give an answer like that.

Moira took deep breaths and adjusted her coat. She quickly racked her brains on what she was supposed to do -  _ oh right, get the papers for the meeting _ \- and, grabbing a stack of papers on her desk, briskly walked out. 

She tilted her head towards Zoe. “Sorry, I couldn’t find the papers.” Moira inwardly cringed -  _ wow, such good lying skills there  _ \- but barrelled on. “Anyway, let’s go back to the meeting.” Zoe raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. 

The meeting in question, of course, was not really a meeting as much as an unofficial Pirate’s Council. As loathe as she was to admit it, Moira knew that the embers of mutiny glowed ever present - and outright ignoring the last one ( _ which was only a couple of days ago, Jesus Christ _ ) would do nothing but stoke the flames.

Thus, a Pirate’s Council. A vote on Moira’s captaincy, no less.

( _ If I lose a ship for the fourth time _ , she privately vowed to herself,  _ I’ll become a cleric _ .  _ Then I can go officiate wed- _ )

She shook her head in an attempt to stop that train of thought and went down into the crowded galley.

The galley in question was crowded to the brim with gossiping crewmembers. As Moira settled back down into her seat and shuffled the papers, she resisted the urge to look up.  _ Don’t look up _ , she repeated to herself,  _ don’t look up don’t look up _ \- 

She glanced upwards and locked eyes with Arthur. The strange sense of dread that bothered her all meeting returned, coiling hot in her stomach.

Moira hurriedly called the meeting into order by nodding sharply at Neil, who got up and rang the bell at the center of the room. 

“Thank you for your patience,” Moira smoothly called over the quieting crowd. She handed the documents to Neil. “Here are the records pertaining to Princess Andy, formerly known as Simon Was, and the four crewmembers that left with him.”

To say that Simon Was’ true identity was a surprise would be putting it mildly. Moira remembered how the crew was deadly silent, shock and anger flickering across their faces, as Zoe gave account of the events in the Land of the Dead. Ophelia gave her own testimony seconds later, recalling in vivid detail the monster that was Princess Andy (not that anyone had any doubts on that, of course).

“Captain,” Neil said after a while, the adrenaline from the attempted mutiny not entirely gone, “did you know of this?”

Moira felt, rather than saw, the frowns of Hunkle and Zoe. “I had my suspicions,” she answered honestly, “but I was not sure. But yes, I did.”

Thus, the pirate’s council meeting.

“We will resume our meeting,” Neil called out, “with a no-confidence vote on Moira Trelian’s Captaincy. But first, the Captain’s log.” Moira handed the documents over to Jim Hopper, who nodded as he turned each page. 

“The records show,” Jim said slowly, “that the Captain did know of Simon Was’ identity, or at least had strong suspicions.”

A crewmember raised his hand. “Yes, Ossian,” called out Jim, “you may speak.”

“Did you know for certain of Princess Andy being Simon Was? If so, since when?”

Moira stood up and faced Ossian. “I will admit,” she said, “that I was not entirely certain, but incredibly so, since our voyage to India. I was aided by the Kid, who did something, and I received a vision that Simon Was was Princess Andy.” Jim nodded in agreement, satisfied. Moira continued on, “but I was not certain until after we left India. There, I saw the remains of what looked to be Princess Andy’s former lair. I saw letters from his childhood, paintings of Princess Andy and Simon, a shark carcass, and letters to Ophelia.” Out of the corner of her eye, Moira saw Ophelia roll her eyes in disgust. “This cemented my belief that Princess Andy and Simon Was were one and the same.” Moira sat down.

Neil looked at Jim, who was still reading over the logs. “And what do the records say?” Jim looked up and nodded. “Affirmative. The Captain is telling the truth.”

Moira felt Arthur’s concerned stare bore into her skull. She clenched her hands underneath the desk and kept staring at the documents in Jim’s hand.

“Oliver,” Neil called out, “what is your expert testimony on this?”

“As head director of the ship’s intelligence division,” Oliver said while standing up, “I also had my own suspicions on Simon Was. His behavior was incredibly strange to the point of neglecting his duties on board.” Murmurs of agreement trickled through the crowd.

“I was actually given permission, and the records will thus indicate” - Jim nodded his head in confirmation - “by the Captain to undergo my own independent investigation, combined with a mental health analysis by Jonathan Chelsea, in confirming Simon Was to be of sound health and fit for duty.”

“Jonathan Chelsea, is this true?”

“Yes, Neil,” supplied the surgeon, who was sitting next to Darra. “I had also noticed Simon’s strange behavior during our ship’s monthly checkup. I warned the Captain that something was wrong, and she suggested that I work with Oliver on this matter.”

Neil nodded his head. “Thank you, Oliver and Jonathan. Do we have any more questions?” The crew was quiet. “In that case,” Neil continued, “we will go on to final deliberations and then voting procedure.”

Moira closed her eyes, letting the sound of deliberation wash over her. She still felt the stare of Arthur -  _ is it sympathy? Support? Condemnation?  _ \- throughout the meeting, causing her hands to feel clammy. Moira repressed the urge to shudder.  _ It can’t be condemnation,  _ she thought.  _ I have told only the transparent truth. But why else would he stare like that?  _ Surely he knew that Moira had learned her lessons from the rum barrel incident. 

Somehow, the thought of receiving Arthur’s condemnation made her feel sick.

She opened her eyes and stared down Arthur. She watched in fascination and a strange sense of glee -  _ wait, what? _ \- as Arthur looked away, redness crawling up his neck. Moira felt herself flush as that strange burning sensation in her stomach returned. 

Arthur glanced up and gave a small smile. Moira’s brain fizzled with static as adrenaline pumped through her veins and a shiver ran down her spine. Arthur’s smile turned into a cocky grin, his mouth turned upwards in fake nonchalance.

_No need to be nervous, Moira,_ Hunkle’s voice rang in her head. _Everyone’s in agreement that you did the right thing._ _They’re not going to kick you out._ A pause. _But please stop being worried. It looks suspicious, and you’re also freaking Zoe out._

But she wasn’t nervous, not really. Moira unconsciously shifted in her seat slightly to the left. A sudden desire to reach out towards Arthur bubbled over, crawling up her skin as the feeling of  _ want _ threatened to wash over - 

_ Wait a second. _

Moira’s eyes widened ever so slightly as realization washed over her like a cold bath. 

It wasn’t nervousness she was feeling, it was - 

Distantly, she heard a bell ring. Her mouth tasted like sand.

“In an unanimous vote” Neil’s voice said in a haze, “Moira Trelian will remain captain of  _ The Mariner’s Revenge. _ ”

* * *

“Hey Zoe,” Moira asked casually over lunch one day, “how did you know you wanted to sleep with Gomez?”

Zoe spewed out her soup and started to cough violently. Dara hit Zoe’s back and handed the siren a glass of water. Hunkle signed and looked up at the ceiling, as if in prayer. 

A couple of tables away, Moira saw Gomez shake his head disappointedly - how he managed to hear her over the dim roar of the galley, Moira had no idea - and whispered something to Dinkeshire, who just shrugged resignedly. 

Moira felt Arthur’s concerned stare boring into her skull from across the room. She willed herself not to meet his gaze.

“Um?” Zoe squeaked out, “ _ excuse me? _ ”

Moira took a swig of rum and shrugged casually. “What I said. How did you know you wanted to sleep with Gomez, but on a more permanent basis?”

“What the fuck?  _ What the fuck? _ ” Zoe hissed. “Are you drunk?” 

Moira shrugged again. “Not drunk enough, clearly.”

Hunkle rolled their eyes. “I wonder what caused this,” they muttered in deadpan.

Moira bristled. “Look, it’s all hypothetical. I just want to know. You know. In case.”

Hunkle stared back, unimpressed. “In case,” they repeated slowly.

Darra looked at Moira with a mischievous smile. “Ah, I see. It’s catching that bouquet that made you think about love, isn’t it? Are we having a wedding soon?” She reached over and pinched Moira’s cheek. “A Captain getting married is the luckiest wedding of them all, no?”

Moira waved away Darra’s hand and shrugged. “Sure. Let’s call it that. Love. My question still stands.”

“Well,” excitedly cut in Darra, eyes starry, “it’s simple, really.” She gazed longingly at Jonathan a couple of tables away. “Like, look. He’s cutting potatoes. Isn’t that wonderful?” Jonathan suddenly looked up and locked eyes with Darra. His face melted into a soft smile, and he waved timidly.

Darra gave one last dazzling grin and turned back towards Moira. “And that’s how you know it’s love.” She shrugged. “It’s simple, really.”

Moira stared back, nonplussed. “Right. So, potatoes equals love?”

“No, that’s not it,” said a slightly red-faced Zoe, “it’s not the act that’s cutting potatoes. It’s, oh I don’t know, it’s not that the potatoes are being cut, but the potatoes are being cut  _ by that person _ .”

“Sounds about right,” muttered Hunkle, angrily stabbing at a potato bobbing in the soup. “God knows I’ve seen too much.” Moira furrowed her brows.

“So, all I need to do is cut potatoes with someone and that’s it?”

Hunkle pushed away their bowl of soup and threw their hands in their air. “Oh my Selune, how dense can you actually be. Look. Give me your rum bottle.”

Zoe dropped her spoon as Darra gasped. Moira stared back, eyes wide. “What?” 

Hunkle motioned impatiently towards Moira. “I said, give me the bottle. Or a deck of cards, I know you have some on you. Just, I need it.” 

Moira warily reached into her coat and pulled out a deck of worn cards. “I’m not giving you alcohol, because you normally don’t drink.” She handed over the deck of cards. “You’re possessed again, aren’t you. I’m taking you immediately to Jonathan after this. Captain’s orders.” Darra and Zoe nodded in agreement, face grave.

Hunkle rolled their eyes. “Well I wasn’t going to actually drink it, but I’m glad to hear that you actually pay attention to stuff like that, I guess. Anyway,” Hunkle gathered up the cards and quickly passed them out. “Now, Moira. Listen. What am I doing?”

“You’re passing out cards.” Moira answered, eyeing Hunkle suspiciously. She slowly reached into her coat. “Hunkle, if you’re there, blink twice if you need help. Zoe, go get Jonathan.”

Hunkle rolled their eyes. “I’m fine, Moira. Take your hand off your gun.” Moira’s hand slunk back down. Hunkle set the cards in a pile and placed one card face-up.

Zoe’s eyes lit up in understanding and grinned. “Good. Now,” continued Hunkle, passing out round pieces of hardtack. “What am I doing?”

“You’re passing out… you’re passing out chips for poker,” Moira said slowly. She leaned back into her chair. “Kid, if you want to play a game, just say so. No need to scare me like that.”

Ignoring Moira, Hunkle flipped over three cards and nodded at Moira, who silently placed two hardtack pieces in the middle.

“Okay,” Hunkle said slowly and exasperatedly, “ _ now _ what are we doing.”

“We’re still playing poker,” Moira said, one eyebrow raised. “Your point being?”

Hunkle threw their cards in the air and groaned. “I give up. Zoe, help me.”

Darra looked at the changeling in confusion as Zoe grinned. “Moira, what are we doing?”

“We’re playing poker, Zoe.” Moira said, tapping her fingers against the table, “on with it, already.”

“And -” Zoe cut in excitedly, “what do you do in the hull?” Moira narrowed her eyes.

“What are you-”

Zoe waved her off. “Just answer the question.”

“I play  _ poker _ ,” said Moira slowly, brows furrowed in suspicion, “with Arthur. Look, I don’t know what you’re implying, but-”

Zoe blinked. “I don’t care about that. But listen to yourself. There’s your answer.” 

Moira paused mid-sentence and leaned back, mouth twisted into a frown.  _ I play poker in the hull with Arthur?  _ “I don’t follow.” The selkie said after a while.

Zoe sighed and shook her head. Hunkle patted her shoulder in consolation. Darra let out a small “oh” and leaned forward excitedly towards Moira. 

“Oh, I see now, Captain. How wonderful!” She smiled. “It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?”

“What’s a nice feeling?” Moira said impatiently, “Just spit it out!”

“I can’t do this anymore,” groaned Hunkle, “Darra, just tell her already and put us out of our collective misery.” Moira sputtered indignantly.

“Captain,” asked Darra, voice soft and patient. “What do you do in the hull?”

“I play poker with Arthur,” Moira answered back. “And?”

“Captain,” said Darra, “we’re playing poker. But in the hull you play poker with Arthur.” She leaned forward and waited, eyes bright and piercing. 

Moira furrowed her brows as her mind whirred in concentration. Thought of the wedding bouquet, of votes of no confidence, of quietly refilled bottles with no expectation of repayment.

_ I’m playing poker, but I play poker with Arthur? _

Sh thought of twinkling eyes that illuminated the dark hull and the ashy burn of betrayal and the terrifying  _ relief _ that he was  _ alive after all these years _ and - 

_ I’m playing poker. But I play poker. Also. But with Arthur. I play poker, but I play poker with Arthur. _

_ With Arthur?  _

She thought of potatoes and kelpies and  _ I’ll follow you to the end of time, Captain_ and _that one time last week when he beat me in poker and all I felt was -_

_ Oh. _

Of course, it had to come back to poker for them.

Moira leaned back in shock, face burning up in realization and embarrassment. Darra laughed, Zoe snickered, and Hunkle let out a groan that sounded suspiciously like “finally!”

“Oh,” Moira croaked, hands shaking, “I think I see now.”

Darra smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Isn’t it wonderful to be in love?”

Moira buried her head in her hands and let out a strangled cry.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] In fact, a young Moira Trelian did fall in love, once upon a time, with a golden-haired pirate whose knife skills were those of legend. But she was long gone - for the golden-haired pirate was from an ancient myth - and besides, she was happily married to a paladin, if the old wives’ tales were to be believed. Still, it was this love that urged Moira to the seas, although she will vehemently deny it if asked. No-one knows of this fact, not even Moira herself. [return to text]


End file.
